


Hand of the King

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Robb Stark Lives, Robb Stark is King in the North, Siblings, political SANSA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: The King in the North is choosing a Hand, or so the rumours say, Sansa just hopes that the new Hand won't force her to leave her home.
Relationships: Robb Stark & Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 167





	Hand of the King

“I hear the King has chosen a new hand.”

Sansa pretended the whispers she heard as she walked through Winterfell did not affect her. So what if she had given Robb all the advice she could on the inner workings of Kings Landing, so what if her advice had helped to prevent war with the Iron Islands, so what if her contacts with the Tyrells had helped them to avoid starvation.

It was Robb’s prerogative to choose the Hand he wanted, and she had always known it would not be her. No king wished to be advised publicly by their little sister.

Sansa could only hope that whoever the new Hand was would not send her away for a political marriage. That they would not persuade Robb to go back on his promise to never sell her hand.

Or at least, if they did manage to persuade Robb, that they would at least allow her to stay in the North.

Sansa had no desire to go South of the Neck for any great length of time ever again.

But it would do no one any good to dwell on what ifs and maybes. Not when she still had so much work to do, especially as Robb’s wife was still unsure about the running of Winterfell on top of her other duties.

Sansa did not mind though, she would happily work her fingers to the bone to keep Winterfell, to keep her home, running the way it should. And when she looked around it, nearly all the scars were gone, smoothed away by the passage of time and the diligent work of so many.

It was almost poetic really.

Her work load had lessened slightly since Rickon had gone to be fostered at Last Hearth, without having to check he was attending lessons Sansa now had much more time to attend the other tasks, just as she had when Bran first went to Greywater Watch to foster with the Reeds.

If she wasn’t much mistaken there was a high chance Bran would choose not to come back to Winterfell when his time fostering was up, from his letters he seemed rather enamoured with the daughter of Lord Reed and she knew that Robb was thinking of granting him Moat Cailin to rebuild.

Arya had gone travelling, had run away at the first betrothal offer Robb had received for her, and Sansa did not blame her. They received letters occasionally from her, and it seemed she was having a grand time exploring all Essos had to offer with her companion, a boy that Arya had met while escaping Kings Landing who was almost certainly a far closer companion than Arya was admitting to.

It was only her and Robb left in Winterfell now, their mother had retired to Riverrun, too saddened by the memories Winterfell held to be able to find contentment there. And Jon, he had chosen to stay further North, had chosen to join the Free Folk to avoid the complications his parentage might have caused.

A large head nudged at her leg; its warmth able to be felt even through the many layers of her skirts. She reached a hand out to scratch behind Greywind’s ears, the queen did not particularly like the wolf so he found Sansa more often than not. She would miss him and his steady warmth if she was sent away.

Sansa shook herself before visiting the orphanage, and pasted a gently, steady smile on her face. She would be caring and happy and not cause any distress to the children she had come to see. They were children who had been left parentless by the wars and the winter and they deserved more than to be caused concern by any thoughts of what ifs she might have.

* * *

The orphanage had been her pet project, a way to increase the love of the people for her family and to care for those hurt by the wars her family had fought. It might not have been completely altruistic in origin but that did not mean it was not doing good for the community.

Every child in the orphanage was found a trade, and Sansa knew she would be leaving with a few who were to become part of the household of Winterfell, as maids or kitchen assistants or stable hands. It was kinder than anything offered in Kings Landing, something that Sansa had taken great care to ensure.

The children all gathered around her when she entered, eager to see what she had brought with her this time or what lesson she was going to teach them. Each child was well cared for, clean and dressed in clothes that, while plain, were warm and well cared for.

The sight of this soothed something in Sansa’s soul that had been harmed by the cruelties she had witnessed since the death of her direwolf. It was not something that could be fixed but its hurt could be lessened.

“Lady Sansa! Lady Sansa!” One particularly precocious child called out, “Are you going to tell us a story?”

Sansa smiled down at them and ruffled their curls, “Is that what you want today? A story, not a song?”

Ten little heads nodded eagerly and Sansa began to tell them a tale, one that they might use in the future, that taught as much as was enjoyable to listen to. A tale of how not everyone who was beautiful was good and how not everyone who seemed helpful was trustworthy.

A morbid tale, perhaps, but one that they might find useful. One that she would have done well to have heard before leaving Winterfell for the first time.

The children all listened with great attentiveness, each one eagerly soaked up each word and the attention that Sansa bestowed upon them.

She would miss them if she had to leave Winterfell.

* * *

“My lady!”

Sansa turned her head towards the shout directed her way, to the overeager page boy that had been sent to give her a message perhaps, or had come to ask something of her. She turned her head back though, when she saw he was by the steps of the keep still, he would come to her and she still had instructions to pass on regarding the children she had brought back with her from the orphanage.

The sooner they were settled in and comfortable the better, it was quite a change for them to live in the castle, let alone the jobs they would be doing and skills they had to learn. She would be keeping an eye on the progress of one of the girls personally, the child had shown an aptitude for stitching and braiding, and likely would make a good ladies maid with a little refining.

“My lady.” The page came over as soon as Sansa had finished, “Lady Sansa, the King has requested to see you. He is in his solar, and wishes to see you as soon as is ideal for your ladyship.”

He was overeager in the way that only youth could be, an amusing sight except for the way his words sent a jolt of ice down her spine. She nodded her thanks and swept through the halls of her home, her shirts whispering along the floor and boors clicking on the flagstones.

People moved out of her way, nodding to her and smiling, gestures she returned although she did not stop of greet them.

Robb’s solar had been their father’s once upon a time, and the desk was the same, the shelves the same. The only thing that had changed was the tapestry, where before one had hung that celebrated Robert’s Rebellion, now there hung one that Sansa had made herself, one of all their direwolves playing in the godswoods. A reminder of why Robb had become King in the first place.

“Sansa,” Robb sounded just like their father with how grave his voice was, “There is something I need to ask you.”

Sansa steeled herself, straightened her spine, she had survived the Lannisters, her brother was nothing compared to them.

“What is it Robb?”

Robb reached into his desk and pulled out a small wooden box, of the kind the blacksmith used to present his smaller commissions.

“I would not have been able to rebuild the North without you, without your knowledge and alliances.” He said, “There is no one else that I trust to hold this position and tell me when I am being an idiot who will get us all killed. Sansa, would you be my Hand?”

To her horror Sansa felt tears start to well up in her eyes, never had she thought-

She opened the box that Robb passed her to reveal a pin in the shape of a hand, wrought in Northern silver as opposed to the gold of the South.

“Robb… I…” She took a deep breath, “It would be my honour, but is there not someone else you would rather have, some lord that should be honoured?”

Her brother grinned at her, “Maybe, but none of them would dare call me a blockhead like you did when I was too proud to see we needed help from the Reach during the winter. I’m asking you Sansa, and hang anyone who says anything against this because you aren’t a man.”

Sansa carefully placed the pin down on the desk and then, in a sudden burst of movement wrapped her brother in a hug. A hug she used all her strength on, to show Robb just how thankful she was.

“Thank you, Robb.” She all but sobbed into his shoulder, overwhelmed with the honour he had given her and the fact she now had reason to remain in Winterfell indefinitely.

She wasn’t being sent away. She could stay.


End file.
